


Put it on my tab

by Wysteria



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anger, Angst, Antagonism, Assault, Barebacking, Bathroom Sex, Biting, Cheating, Clothed Sex, Clubbing, Cock Tease, Denial, Distrust, Drinking, Drunkenness, Dubious Consent, Emotional Baggage, Foreplay, Hair-pulling, Harassment, Hate Sex, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Jealousy, Love/Hate, M/M, Mental Anguish, Mental Coercion, Neglect, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Frustration, Smut, Threats, Trust Issues, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-24 19:07:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22022953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wysteria/pseuds/Wysteria
Summary: South Park has come a long way from the small town that it was. It was the result of inevitable progress, and with progress, came all of its vices.
Relationships: Kyle Broflovski/Craig Tucker, Kyle Broflovski/Stan Marsh
Comments: 2
Kudos: 91





	Put it on my tab

South Park has come a long way from the small town that it was. It was the result of inevitable progress, and with progress, came all of its vices.

Kyle stood with his shoulders taunt, discomfort on his face with the environment he was in. He was never one to mingle in places he didn't know, and Guyver's, an up and coming club for years from the looks of all the award plates on the walls, was one of them. It hadn't been his idea, but Stan's, in coming here. He looked over at him, dressed in seemingly his every day wear--a v-neck Jersey t-shirt and some denim jeans. The only change was his black leather jacket, but that was a given due to the cold winter weather. But that didn't make Kyle feel any better. Stan couldn't bother himself to dress up even when they were out.

Stan noticed him staring and smiled at him.

"Nice set up, right?"

"This is what you call nice?"

Kyle didn't know which he was more upset about. Stan's nonchalant attitude, or the fact that he knew this was a place Stan would regularly frequent even before they were together. He looked up over the railing of the stairs and saw a man huddled over, clutching his head in pain. That was him right now. This whole place was already giving him a headache.

"We could have gone to Marlo's." Kyle said. "I've been wanting for us to go."

"A sit down place? Come on, dude, you know I'm not like that."

"Oh that's right. You do enough sitting on your ass playing Counter Strike at home."

Stan visibly darkened at that remark.

"I wanted to take you out, so you can 'get out'. You're too damn introverted, Kyle."

Kyle scoffed. "Me? You play on that thing like all weekend. And you wonder why I haven't moved in with you yet."

"Trust me. Just go and get--holy shit. Hey Clyde! Kyle, Kyle, I'll be right back!"

Stan suddenly bounded off into the crowd, leaving Kyle alone among the pile of bodies. The red-head swore, trying to move and catch up with him, but he was already gone. His nerves were already too tense. He needed to go calm down. He saw the glint of expensive wines, and the empty stools. And right then, the bar never felt more inviting. Kyle went on over and took a seat. The heater was overcompensating, and while Kyle had pulled off his jacket, he was still too hot. He saw a tall, darkly dressed man, his outfit a little too pressed for where he was in. Kyle clinked a glass that happened to be sitting next to him with Stan's keys; he knew he'd be the designated driver later.

"Excuse me, can I get a Tomato Lassi? Can you make that?"

"Tomato Lassi?" The man behind the counter said as he turned around. "What the fuck does this look like, a--" He paused and stared.

Kyle did the same.

"Holy shit, dude. Craig? Craig Tucker?"

The other man's speech went into a harsh monotone; exacerbated by his nasal voice. He clearly didn't want to talk to him, and neither did Kyle. He also didn't want to go back onto the club floor just yet.

"It's..a virgin drink. I need to be able to drive Stan home tonight. What are you doing here?"

Craig rubbed at the dark circles under his eyes before speaking again. 

"I work here, dumbass." His eyes fleeted away somewhere off into the crowd. "So Marsh is with you."

"Yeah," Kyle said, gesturing to the floor. "Out there talking to Clyde or whatever." Kyle dragged the glass in front of Craig. "So, you gonna fill it or what?"

Craig blinked. "What?"

"My glass. Tomato Lassi. Or whatever the fuck you have here that's virgin. I don't care."

Craig looked down at his watch. It was a quarter to eleven. That meant his shift was almost over. He looked back up at Kyle. "Your peachy life must be so rough. Is Marsh not treating you well."

Kyle slipped a twenty on the table. "I'm not paying you to talk. I want a drink."

Craig pushed the bill back to him.

"What the fuck are you trying to pull, dude?" 

The black haired man scoffed. "Oh, sorry, I must not have made it clear enough." Craig give him the middle finger.

"No," Kyle hissed. "I'm paying you, you have to make it."

That was when Craig stepped to the side, revealing a sign on the wall. It read 'Bartender reserves the right to refuse service'. Kyle's mouth dropped open.

"No, no. You make my fucking drink right now, dude. Ok, make it alcoholic. 'Cuz now I need it." Kyle pushed the twenty back across the table. "Keep the change. Doesn't take a genius to know that you're scrounging in this fucking shit hole."

Craig snatched the twenty from his hand. "You call me 'dude' one more time, Broflovski, and I will have the bouncer throw you out." He took the glass and proceeded to make a Martini. Kyle watched him through cross eyes. He knew why Craig was acting like this. Had, ever since the middle of high school, when Stan and him got together. That they had basically made lives for themselves when Craig had not. Stan was an architect, and Kyle was studying to become a RN. 

Kyle took a swig of the Martini that was put on the table. "Just because you're stuck in this dead end job, doesn't give you the right to be so rude to me."

"Rude? Please. Go preach to Marsh. He's probably off fucking some skank as we speak." 

Kyle looked at him, confusion and anger burning in his chest. "What the fuck did you say?"

"You heard what I said. He's not as committed as you think. Or did you not figure that out yet."

Kyle chewed his cheek. When he thought about it. They had only ever fucked once so far. He knew that sex shouldn't be the most important thing in a relationship, but to Kyle, well, that had to speak for something. 

Craig couldn't help the smirk on his face. Kyle was smart, but had always been somewhat oblivious when it came to his friend Stan Marsh. To see them on ends like this was almost too sweet, because after all, Marsh did not deserve Kyle. He decided to keep the ball rolling.

"You know those signs flashing in the back of your head? You should probably listen to them."

"D-it's not--Stan's not gonna do anything." Kyle said.

"And that's exactly why you should break it--"

Something hard smacked his face, and right away he tasted blood.

"You fucking asshole!" Kyle shrieked, his voice almost as high as the music, "You really think you have the gall to tell me what to do?! You hate my guts, so don't give me advice!" He got up from the table, grabbing his jacket. 

"Bro-"

Kyle looked back at him, his anger now having changed. It was smoldering. Dangerous.

"Fuck you, Craig," Kyle said. "Fuck you."

The red-head disappeared into the crowd, leaving Craig alone once again.

He looked down to the floor at the shattered pieces of glass around his feet, feeling the blood rush to his face--and somewhere else.

He could not put it nicely. It just wasn't him. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps that was just his problem. He wasn't nice to Kyle then, and certainly not now, and it seemed that the remarks shrugged off in childhood were now thrown back in his face. Could he deal? Certainly. Did he like it? Definitely.

Tension nearly at its limit, Kyle pushed his way through the crowd, looking for Stan, when he finally found him against the wall; and as he had guessed, still chatting away with Clyde. But he wouldn't have it. He'd had more than enough of tonight.

"Stan," Kyle tried to talk above the music that seemed to blare in his ears, and wondered how anyone was having any problem holding a conversation in here--scratch that, more like no one. They were all too busy dancing, or grinding on each other. When Stan turned, he knew--from that glossed smile that he had had one drink too many already. He could smell it on him, probably having spilled some in the process of his binge. He hated when Stan did this, and Clyde seemed too happy himself to care. He was probably drunk too.

"Kyle," Stan said. "Heeey, you having fun?"

Kyle scoffed.

"No. I wanna leave. Now."

Stan's brows knit with confusion. "What? But we just got here."

"Yeah, and you're already drunk."

"I'm just loosening up. You know I had it rough this week. Besides, I brought you out here so you can have a good time!"

"Well, I'm not."

For a moment, Kyle wondered if he should mention about Craig to Stan, and decided against it. 

Stan laughed and said to Clyde in a low tone, as if not to be heard, "Dude, there's no helping him when he's like this."

Kyle could not believe how rude he was being.  
"You're not helping me," Kyle said. "You're helping yourself. You brought me here just so you can feel good about yours--”

He felt a sudden onset of nausea. Fuck. He knew he shouldn’t have had that drink. Kyle staggered a little, clutching a hand to his pale face. In his peripheral vision, he could make out Stan’s hand on his shoulder.

“Ugh.”

“Kyle?”

He jerked away and made a beeline for the bathroom, hoping he could make it before he spilled the contents of his stomach on the club floor. 

When he made it, he threw the stall door open and vomited in the toilet. Someone else could have been in here, but at the moment, he didn’t care. When the sick feeling finally started to die down some, he heaved a shaky sigh, and stood up to clean his mouth toilet paper. The moment of calm didn’t last long however.

“Wow, I fucking knew it. You can’t drink for shit.”

Kyle whipped around, coming to face the man he thought he wouldn’t have to see for another time that night. 

"The fuck are you doing in here?"

He moved from out of the stall, Craig stepping to the side as if nothing had been incited at all. 

Shrugging, he said, "What does it look like. Shift ended, and I came in and did the most logical thing." Kyle saw that the gash on his lip, while still red, had been thoroughly cleaned.

"You know, I can report you for assaulting me, Broflovski."

He knew. There was no way that he hadn't hit a nerve, and after the show of rudeness Craig had pulled on him out there, he was satisfied. It gave him the edge to push forward.

"I'd hardly call that assault in your case, but just fucking try it. They'll see what's on the cameras. Everything's there."

"Hardly, huh." Craig stood back against the tile. "You really need cameras to prove a point?" Craig said. "Is it because no one believes you."

"What?"

"About him. About the abuse." 

Craig watches as Kyle lit up with anger, and he sighed. 

"Stan has never hit me."

"'Cuz he doesn't have the balls."

Kyle knew that Craig was trying to get at him. Whether it was out of jealousy, or spite, it didn't matter. He had no right to talk to him like this. He stepped towards him, looking Craig right in the eyes.

"Oh yeah? Well, neither do you."

Before he could even gauge a reaction, Craig's hands were on him, slamming him against the wall. Kyle saw in the darkness of his eyes that he had cast himself out at sea, and in the midst of a storm. But he dare not back down from it.

"Don't you compare me to Marsh." Craig said. "I'm not like that fucker."

Kyle rolled his eyes. 

"Oh no, Tucker's gonna assault me now, I'm so fucking scared. So fucking pussy he couldn't even--"

The wind was knocked out of him again, as fingers fisted his hair, and his head slammed back into the wall hard.

"Pussy, huh, sounds like what you're about to be." 

He was close, and Craig lunged forward and kissed Kyle before he could return the insult. Craig tried to make it seem like an afterthought. Whether that had worked, he couldn't tell, for he only felt sharp pain as the red-head bit on the tongue that snaked its way into his mouth.

Kyle hummed, triumphant that he distracted Craig, long enough to reach into his pants. He rubbed his cock hard, feeling it strain against his fingers, eliciting a hiss from the other and Craig pushed him away, grabbing him and turning him where his prying hands couldn't reach. 

"Bitch," The raven-haired ground out. "Who said you could touch me?"

Kyle could smell, even from his position, the smell of alcohol on Craig’s own breath. Yes, he thought. Yes. He actually gone and stressed Craig to the point of drinking. His head bobbed against the tile as he started to laugh, and unintentionally pressed his ass backwards. His smile faded when Craig’s grip on his arm tightened.

“Okay, I didn’t mean that.”

“The fuck you did.” The alcohol hadn’t dulled his senses in the slightest. Not like it usually did. He he had been trying to erase any thought of the red-head from his mind, thought he would be passed by, but here they were, in the bathroom no-less.

Kyle huffed. “Dude, this is dumb.”

Craig saw him reach behind his pants pocket with his free-hand, his fingers tapping away at numbers on the screen, and when he realized what Kyle was trying to do he smacked the phone from his hand. Kyle nearly had a heart attack when it fell to the floor. Sure as day, he could make out the caller I.D.

STAN

There was now a crack down the middle, distorting the perfect picture that was his smile. 

Appropriate. 

“What the fuck? I just bought that phone!”

“Fucking buy another one then.”

Kyle mumbled words under his breath, having becoming distressed over his broken phone. “You think that I have all the money in the world, don’t you? That I have--”

“Everything?” The word was bitter. There was no way Craig could hold back his jealousy now. Yes, he had everything. Everything all just given to him by Marsh. When Kyle was in trouble, he was there. And when Kyle wanted a way out, he took him without a second thought. And in haste, they created a life together. It was cheap, it was fake, and the only one who didn’t realize it was Kyle himself. 

“Stan?”

“Do you honestly think he can hear us? Plastered fuck.” He tugged at the waist-band of Kyle’s jeans, pulling them down. Kyle must be either too drunk, or too sick, because his body moved almost too slow, as he tried once again to get out of the grip. And that was in fact right, his nausea once again at an all time high. 

“You selfish prick.” Kyle spat. “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?” He was filled with rage, disgust, as those long fingers dipped down beneath his boxers. At the thought that it could have been Stan. But, could it be, that Craig was right about him? He didn’t want to believe he had made a mistake. 

“I never expected you to come back here.”

The red-head shuddered when the taller man started to finger him. 

“Oh, and now that I’m back, you think you can just have me?”

“I’m just taking what I want.” The raven-haired said. “Don’t think this means anything.” With a few twists and pulls, both of their pants had dropped to the floor, and somehow, that led to Kyle being pressed into the wall, as Craig leaned his full weight on him, rubbing his cock hard against Kyle’s ass. 

“If I didn’t know better, I would say you came back just because you’re getting tired of him.”

“We came from Denver just to visit, asshole.” That was all. Just to see what had changed in their small town of their childhood. Some things had. Some things hadn’t. Kyle squeezed his eyes shut, thankful that he didn’t have to look at Craig’s face as he pushed his cock inside him. He tried to think of Stan. But it was hard. Stan was never this firm. Never this rough. Something told Kyle that he must have known.

“You make me sick.”

“Enough to fuck me?” Kyle rocked back against Craig’s hips, and it was enough to make the other groan. “Now doesn’t that make sense?” 

Every sound that they made seemed amplified by the echo of the empty bathroom. They should have thought that someone would come in there at any moment, but it didn’t matter. What they were doing was commonplace. Kyle had long since forgotten that his phone had dropped the call he had placed; his body hot and shaking from the contact. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t been sexually frustrated, but no way in hell would he ever make that known to Craig. Before he left South Park, he knew that he disliked the man. Craig’s nasal voice, abrasive personality from what little had been gathered, and stark appearance weren’t anything special. The times when they would see each other. It was always around others. At school. At parties. Always closing off anything meaningful that could ever be said or any tension that could ever be cleared. Now, in the most unlikely of places, the moment had been, quite literally, thrust before them. Any accusation or qualm that had ever been thought could finally be laid bare, and they both burned for it. There was much to be said, much not to be said, and the only difference was how to express it. 

“Shutup, you slut.” Another sharp thrust sent them into a rhythm, heated only by their words, and the spite that came with it. “This is your fault.”

“Oh, sure, put it on my tab!”

“I’ll put it on your tab alright.” He pushed away the curls of red with his tongue, biting Kyle’s ear hard. “You really thought you did good standing with that loser, didn’t you?” 

“That’s because he loves me.”

“And you thought, because he loves you, that he’ll give you what you want.”

Blue LCD lit up, and Kyle could make out his phone vibrating on the floor. It was Stan. He must have seen the missed call. He didn’t make a move to grab it like before. Just watched as it dimmed and went to voicemail. In his mind he thought, for this moment, Stan could go fuck himself. “Fucker.”

Confused, Craig responded. “It’s Tucker.”

Not realizing he had said aloud, but going with the flow, Kyle said, “I know. But you’re a fucker. And you’re fucking me right now, aren’t you?” The jab was perhaps the cheesiest thing that Kyle had said, and Craig smirked.

“You’re an idiot, Broflovski.”

\-----

Having seen the time after their event in the bathroom and left little for the two to get cleaned up; hastily throwing their clothes back on. Aftercare be damned. Kyle, his ass still full of cum, silently prayed that Stan, reeking himself, wouldn’t notice him smelling of sex on their ride home. Thankfully, with Stan having fallen asleep, he was left in quiet. He thought about what had been said to him, relaying the moments in his head. How the poised words and jabs had fallen away to an all-consuming need. Before he had come back, he was convinced after all these years that there was nothing but hatred between the two of them. Craig hated Kyle, because he was with Stan, and Kyle hated him for his strange rudeness that he would never explain. And now it was as if he had missed it. This chemistry that was neither sudden nor forced, only having been buried all along. He thought about another time and past; if he had somehow been with Craig. His head swam as he grabbed his phone, cycling through the list of numbers to find the one he added not hours ago. He just wanted to clear things up. 

There wasn’t any harm in just having his number.

Right?

**Author's Note:**

> Originally an idea I discussed with a friend and decided to write out. This isn't my first SP work, but rather just one I decided to post here.


End file.
